Behind the scenes
by niewypowiedziane
Summary: One time at Natasha's place, Clint learns that Pepper has a thing for lined up shoes, makes mean waffles, and talks about Tony Stark as if he were an unruly pet. He decides it's a beginning of a beautiful friendship.
1. 1

**1**

'You are wearing pink sunglasses,' Miss Potts says a moment after Clint sneaks soundlessly into Nat's apartment, hoping to get something to drink and a quiet time of her heavenly sofa.

The words are slightly slurred, Potts is barefoot and holding an empty martini glass, and Clint sighs as he realizes that he's just entered a two-lady party.

'They are rose-tinted glasses,' he murmurs pointlessly, turning around and starting to wonder how to fall asleep back at home with the headache building up at the back of his head. Somehow it's easier at Nat's, he feels safer and the small background noises of her doing her everyday things help him relax.

'Hey, Agent Barton, wait,' he hears Potts' voice, a tone quieter. She walks up to him, the glass gone, frowning slightly. 'We run out of olives. Natasha went to the deli to get some. You don't have to go.'

'It's not –' he tries, but she's already taken his hand and drags him, albeit delicately, to his favorite sofa. When he's sitting down, she disappears for a long moment and comes back with a glass of blissfully cold water.

'I live with a genius who doesn't sleep,' she explains, sitting at the edge of the tea table, crossing her long legs at the angles. 'I know a headache when I see one, even when I'm tipsy – especially when I'm tipsy. Someone thinks getting us drinks is a good diversion technique.'

'I can imagine,' Clint says after he swallows a sip of the water, and lets himself lean against the soft fabric. That does sound like the Stark Natasha ranted about during her time as his PA.

'He's so stressing,' Potts adds, picking up a stray toothpick from the table and turning it around quickly between her fingers. Clint can just imagine her doing the same with a pen during long business meetings. 'Everything is so stressing. I needed to unwind.'

'No need to explain yourself, I know this deadly assassin that loves wearing her baby blue yoga pants at home.'

The words leave his mouth before he can filter them and for a moment he expects Nat to come out from a dark corner and smack him good-naturedly, commenting on his lax reflexes, but nothing happens and Clint realizes she really isn't around. Yet.

'Yoga pants are a blessing,' Potts declares solemnly, ignoring Clint's unsure face. 'Especially when you get to wear a tight skirt and tights all the time –'

'Or a leather outfit,' Clint finds himself agreeing easily, making Potts' frown deepen a bit before it turns into a smile.

'You're a sweet thing,' she says, looking behind Clint, what means Natasha is entering the flat soundlessly, as always.

'He is,' Nat says across the room, kicking off her shoes. Clint knows that sound so well, she always does that, leaving the shoes in the middle of the hallway, and Clint picks them up and puts them in a perfect line. Judging by a quick grimace on Potts' face, she'd like to do the same. 'He's a softie. Can't even hold his –' she trails off, stopping two steps from the sofa, and places the olives in a jar and a bag of frozen shrimp of the table. 'Do you want to go to bedroom?'

'Nah, I'm fine here,' he assures her, shrugging a little. Moving makes his head pound a bit more, so he decides he won't do it again soon. Natasha disappears and Potts opens the jar and puts olives in the two glasses standing on the nearby bookshelf, moving in a blurry line in front of Clint.

Natasha comes back with more water and SHIELD-developed muscle relaxant, an agent's best friend. Clint accepts them gratefully and lowers himself down in the sofa to half-laying position when the dull ache lessens a bit. Then he falls asleep to two hushed voices talking gossip and exchanging random news and tips, it feels familiar and homey and Clint, before he dozes off, realizes he'd like to join in.

* * *

When Clint wakes up, the apartment is completely quiet and still, filled with morning light, his glasses are missing and he's covered with a blanket. The headache is gone, so that's a good thing, and maybe now he'll be able to sit through a debrief with Hill; she might be a skilled commander, but they get on each other's nerves.

He sits up, stretches his limbs, and heads for the fridge. Headaches and food don't mix well, so he's pretty hungry – well, hungry enough to try eating something from Nat's kitchen. Usually it's futile because she doesn't cook, it doesn't even appear that she eats anything, given the state of her kitchen, but there is a pleasant surprise waiting for Clint at the kitchen table.

There is a plate of cold waffles, dusted with powdered sugar, and a handwritten note saying Hope headache is gone. Maybe the next time we meet will be under better circumstances. P.S. Natasha says if you don't cook her paella tonight, you will regret it.

'Sounds like Nat,' Clint murmurs to himself, sitting cross-legged on the table, with the food-filled plate in front of him, and grabs the first waffle. It's crunchy and has a nice lemony note to it, underneath the sugar, and Clint grins appreciatively. There're few better things than a good breakfast and this certainly falls under than category. 'Wait, next time? What does next time mean?' he mumbles, the words hardly recognizable as he's chewing on the waffle. 'Huh. I guess if we do this Avengers gig, Stark might be around, so she will, too.'

He nods to himself, content with the explanation, and continues to eat in silence. When he's done, he jumps off the table with ease, stretches again, popping his back pleasantly, and puts the plate into the dishwasher.

On his way out, he sorts Natasha's shoes and finds one high-heeled pair that has to be Potts' and hums approvingly, deciding that they're going to get along very well.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading, I hope you liked this chapter :) This will be Clint & Pepper friendship story, chapters about 1k. I'll try to update a few times a week. Let me know what you think!


	2. 2

The Avengers end up being official a few weeks later. Clint likes that he'll be sitting on windy rooftops a little less. He's been doing that for over a decade and he could use a break, even if said break involves aliens.

When he's about to open the door to HR to get his paperwork done, his phone buzzes.

_Let's celebrate. My place. 6 p.m. I've got booze._

Clint is annoyed for a few seconds before he dully accepts that Stark would find out his phone number whether Clint wants it or not; the man could hack S.H.I.E.L.D and find about Phase 2, so nothing online is safe.

'Bet you do,' he says under his breath, tapping his fingers at the phone and wondering if he is expected to write back or something, when the phone buzzes again, making him flinch.

_Tony won't come by until at least 8 p.m. so don't come too early and waste your time. Pepper Potts._

Clint frowns, wondering if she has some kind of Stark-control system – how else would she know what he's texting people? – but well, that's not his business. Eight sounds all right and if Hill finds something to do for him for the evening, he'll skillfully ignore her and sit back enjoying Natasha being badass and protective and _insubordinate_, all at the same time. Fun.

* * *

Back in his apartment, after a day of going from place to place and fulfilling his bureaucratic duties, Clint realizes that he has no idea what Stark really meant by that invitation. Should he dress casual? Elegant? Wear _nice underwear _ – who knows, Stark _is_ a playboy, right? Should he bring a housewarming gift or anything else?

Finally, after two of those fancy little glass bottles of coke and a few texts exchanged with Natasha, he puts on black slacks, sneakers and a blue shirt. No gifts, she said. That's a relief.

_Wear blue. Brings out your eyes_, Natasha texted and Clint swore to kick her ass for that during the next training, but in the end he decides to listen.

At 6 p.m. sharp he's, per Stark's instruction, at the back entrance to the building and says his name to the mini microphone hidden by the black pad. At least Stark doesn't have his fingerprints. _Yet_, a voice in Clint's head add a bit ominously.

The light by the door turns green and Clint slips inside.

'I sent you, per Miss Potts' request, a note that Sir is not likely to come down before 8 p.m.' a toneless voice says from everywhere around, making Clint's head snap up scanning the vast empty hall for any sign of life. 'I apologize for the inconvenience.'

'JARVIS, right?' Clint asks, shifting a bit. He remembers the A.I. from the one time he was at the tower, back when Avengers came back to take care of Loki.

'Miss Potts says you can join her in the penthouse,' JARVIS says, ignoring Clint's question, and an elevator on his left opens. It takes less than fifteen seconds to get to Stark's personal floor; pretty impressive given the number of floors the elevator passes smoothly.

'Agent Barton,' Potts greets Clint as soon as he steps out of the elevator. She's wearing impossibly high heels and a tight dark green dress, looking more like she was going to a charity ball than a small party at home. 'You clean up nice.'

Clint smirks, mentally beating Natasha up – it's not likely to happen in real, sadly – and nods.

'Thank you –'

'I think everyone else is coming at eight. You did get JARVIS' message, right? Sorry for the mess, Tony is like that, he's expected to always be fashionably late and he thinks everyone does the same. I think he's reinventing silicon chip today, but who knows. These things can change at any moment,' she finishes, taking a deep breath, and gestures at Clint to follow her inside.

'I was curious what's happening at a part before it starts. I guess,' Clint explains, wondering if his words make sense, but it seems they do, because Potts laughs. 'And I just lost my old job, so I had nothing to do.'

'I come here when I have nothing to do, too. It happens about one time in ages, but the view is nice and the interior – it calms me down. It's aesthetically pleasing. Not exactly a zen garden, but I take what I can.'

'The view is amazing,' Clint agrees, walking up to the glass wall, staring at the perfect picture of a sunset over the ocean. 'I like high places. Comes with the job,' he explains.

'Mhm,' she mutters skeptically and then she starts cutting something, the regular noise of a knife touching a cutting board surprising him. 'It's not just that, is it?' she asks as he turns around. She's staring at the herbs she's chopping skillfully.

'I grew up in a circus,' Clint says with an ease that surprises him. 'It feels safe.'

She nods, frowning a little, and looks up.

'You like cilantro?'

'I love cilantro,' he assures her, moving a bit closer.

'I had a feeling you do,' she says, smiling at him, and starts to slice shallots before putting them into a frying pan with a bit of butter and olive oil. For a few moment Clint watches, fascinated, as she continues to move around and cook without getting as much as a drop of water on her expensive-looking clothes.

'I can do that,' he says when she takes out bacon that apparently needs to be sliced.

'Thank you, Agent Barton,' she smiles, handing him the big knife, pleasantly heavy in his hand.

'Clint,' he corrects her, letting his hands work automatically.

'Pepper,' she says, chuckling. 'Not the best kitchen joke.'

They both laugh, before going back to work, and Clint by some miracle or osmotic Pepper-power manages not to mess up his clothes until the rest of the team arrives.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little piece of self-indulgent fluffiness :)


	3. 3

A week later Clint gets a text from Pepper asking if he's free in the afternoon. He just got back from a short surveillance mission so he replies that yes, he is, and a moment later his phone buzzes again.

New York Hall of Science, 3 p.m. Dress casual.

'Dress casual, I can guess what casual means,' Clint sighs, mentally reviewing his wardrobe. He has another shirt he can wear and maybe dark jeans won't be too bad… Well. This friendship might yet require some sacrifice: he has to go shopping. It's not that he doesn't like that, there was just never a need.

I'll be there, thx for the invitation, he replies, checking the time. Three hours to go. He should get up, shower, grab some lunch with Natasha, she'll kill him if he doesn't share all the gossip the op.

* * *

At 3 p.m. sharp, dressed casual elegant which seems to be the only casual Pepper does outside of the safe haven of her apartment in Stark Tower, Clint it waiting in front of the museum. Just a moment later a black car with Stark 13 on the license plate stopsin front of him.

'Hey,' Pepper greets him, getting out of the car and waving at the driver.

'Hello yourself,' Clint says, taking a black suitcase of out her hand. 'To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?'

'I wish all men were courteous like this,' Pepper says instead of answering his questions, sounding mildly frustrated. A bad meeting, Clint guesses, following her into the museum.

'I was hoping you wouldn't punch me in the face for saying that,' he admits, pocketing his sunglasses as they enter the building. Pepper does the same, exchanges a few words with a security guard and they are asked to wait for someone to take them inside.

'No, it's cute,' she assures him. 'And as of why we're here, well, we're having an exhibition with some lectures over the next few weeks and it opens in a few days so I have to oversee how everything's going. We as in Stark Industries, of course –'

'Since it's Hall of Science,' Clint finishes for her, nodding. 'Any cool toys?'

'You know Tony, guess – he hardly ever makes anything else,' she laughs.

A moment later the guide comes to get them straight to where the exhibition will take place and they follows him silently, Pepper tapping on her phone with an annoyed look on her face, and Clint two steps behind, taking in every detail of his surroundings since it's a habit he can't break.

'I thought you're more into art art,' he says when the guide leaves them alone in the vast space where some workmen are already installing things and positioning cabinets. She looks up, and when their eyes meet, they both say, 'Natasha.'

'Yes, I am, it's little more than a hobby. I've been curating Tony's art collection for over ten years and then he decided to donate it all to the Boy Scouts of America just like that. Of course, later I learned that he was dying so it justified the decision a little bit,' she adds, laughing tightly, gesturing at him to follow her to see closer what's going on. 'but I was so, so mad at him, you wouldn't believe. It was worth billions of dollars. I just – okay, let's not talk about that. At least he's remotely interested in what's happening here, since it's all his toys.'

'S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D would love some of these gadgets. I would love some of these gadgets, I think – is this a hand?'

'It's a fake hand. Though it's remotely controlled so it could sneak up on you like, like in the Addams family. It's a perfect replica of a human one, you know, with all veins and tendons and every single detail,' she explains casually, moving to the next exhibit. When Clint gives her an incredulous look, she snickers. 'Tony dated this surgeon for like a month. Apparently he got inspired.'

'Okay,' Clint replies slowly, wondering why the heck doesn't Stark Industries try something in the medical field then, if Stark can make this in less than a month – but well, he's saving the world with clean energy, so maybe his priorities are different.

'How about you, Clint? I still feel like you're a walking mystery. There isn't much gossip about you I can access.'

'I threatened Natasha with no more cooking for her, a few months back, when she was being mean,' he admits, leaning over an uncovered glass case holding something that look like a James Bond's gadget. 'Sorry. She gets bored and she gets mean. So be warned,' he adds solemnly.

'All right, I'll keep her occupied then, I guess – so you? Art? Anything?'

'I spent most of my life pretty uncultured. No school museum trips or anything like that. I'm more of a cinema guy, not really into great painters and all that.'

'Movies?'

'Old movies,' he clarifies. Pepper takes the suitcase out of her hand the same way he took it from hers and opens it on one of the cluttered tables, taking out a thick folder. 'Give it to Mr. Grisham,' she tells a passing man, handing it to him, and turns back to Clint, with an eyebrow raised expectantly.

'Old?'

'Less action, more details… I can relate. And they're calming. Normal.'

'I could use normal.'

'Sure. I guess text me when you have time – is that the original Stark S1 satellite?'

'It is,' Pepper says, following him to the corner of the room where the item is still sitting in its protective case. 'And you know, just for the record, you do realize that tomorrow you'll be the mysterious man I cheat on Tony with?'

'I thought you two weren't exactly –'

'You still will be,' she says, giving him an amused look, and he groans, before moving on to see the rest of the exhibits.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading & your lovely support so far. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too :)


	4. 4

'Did I give you my address?' Clint asks when he opens the door to see Pepper standing there, in a tight black dress and perfect shoes, obviously tired and yet somehow _giddy._

'No, I found the address myself –or rather JARVIS did. For me. Does that sound wrong? I'm sorry if an A.I. spying on you wounds wrong –'

'I'm too familiar with spies, no worries. Come inside,' Clint says and just as she moves he notices a small paper bag in her hand. 'So why is the famous CEO visiting me this fine Wednesday evening?'

'I need a drink.'

'Oh,' Clint breathes. That's something women seem to do around Clint sometimes. Natasha and Maria and Melinda and a few others, they come by and treat him like a pal and a puppy at the same time. Which is totally fine because he gets the best booze for free. 'Well then…'

'I brought stuff,' she adds, showing Clint the bag in her hands. There are two bottles inside and Clint sets them on the kitchen counter. 'JARVIS said according to your schedule you should have a free evening and I thought you'd like some alcohol – I can go if you have plans, I'm being insensitive, see what that damn man turned me into –'

'I like Polish vodka,' Clint assures her. Pepper drops on the nearest chair tiredly and kicks off her shoes.

'You're a lifesaver. I'm glad I met you, Clint. I really am.'

'I really like your shoes, Pepper,' he counters, taking out two crystal-cut glasses he got from Natasha but before he can pour the vodka, Pepper grabs it and takes a few gulps straight from the bottle, leaving Clint string at her with morbid fascination.

'Bad day.'

'We all have them,' he replies automatically, setting the glasses on the counter, takes out some olives and salami from the fridge and slides into the chair next to Pepper. His glass is full by then and Pepper is nursing hers with a weary smile.

'We had this meeting in the morning that Tony was late for 'cause he was doing some breakthrough work and I told him that's no excuse, he does that every week but he wouldn't listen so we argued, and then I tried to talk to him at lunch but he sneaked out and hid from me as if he was a damn kid and I really don't have time to go running around looking for him, and then I got this call from yet another woman who claims to have a kid with him, a toddler or something, and we have to check it even though I'm sure it's not his, and it's just – I can't take that anymore.'

'You sure talk a lot about Tony,' he comments with a small smile. Pepper shakes her head tiredly and pours herself some move vodka.

'Gosh, I'm sorry, I'm doing this again, aren't I?'

'Are you two like, together?' Clint asks, feeling like this might be his chance to actually get an answer, no one seems to know that for sure.

'No, no,' Pepper replies quickly, looking as if she was about to burst out laughing or maybe crying. 'He's too much for that. He requires so much attention and I need my space and – no, we're just not compatible. _At_ _all_. We just have sex sometimes and that's a very good arrangement. The best. It's like, when we get too close, we need to run away from each other and wait until we can stand each other again for more than five minutes.'

'That sounds like a handful.'

'It is, but I'm used to it. You should have seen me ten years ago, or maybe better not, when I started working for him. Took me a few months to get used to the way he functions. I adapted, I made him adapt, and here we are. We haven't killed each other yet. I count that as an accomplishment.'

'Nat and I, we're pretty much similar. Only that we don't get the off times, we just beat the other up in fights until we decide it's time for after-training shake and then we're bros because Nat hates making her own food. I tried to explain making a shake is not cooking, but she's got ideas.'

'I know that type. Smart, but impossible. But all right, I'm not going to talk about Tony again –'

'I don't mind –'

'– it's just that he's been such a big part of my life for the last what, fifteen years? It'll be fifteen years soon. And he can be overwhelming. So how about I tell you something from before Tony?'

'When did you get your first pair of high heels?'

'I was fourteen,' Pepper laughs, her eyes lighting up at the memory. 'I just found out being a girl was nice, I wasn't very girly before. I have two brothers, I needed to be tough. But then I met a new girl and we made friends, you know how this goes?'

Clint nods even though he doesn't, not really, but it's not the point. He can imagine. He's seen enough movies to imagine.

'Yeah,' he verbalizes, biting into a pleasantly bitter olive.

'It was a bit crazy, I was this skinny sticky kid with short hair but I fell in love with heels, I took my mum's dozens of times when we'd go to movies or to the mall.'

'And she didn't notice?' Clint wonders since he doesn't really know how normal parents function.

'I thought she didn't, when I was in college she told me she always knew and it amused her to see me sneaking around like that. She said she could see I've always been a high-heel girl.'

'I can see that too,' Clint agrees, standing up. 'Want to try some on? Sometimes Nat leaves them here and _forgets_ – don't look at me like that, they're good for Halloween costumes.'

Pepper laughs, shaking her head in amused disbelief, and follows.

* * *

**A/N:** That you for all your comments! Sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. I'm always happy to read your thoughts :)


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